


What Friends Are For

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Chandler has issues, Character with OCD, Gen, Miles is a good friend, Mud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 14:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7318747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles and Chandler's visit to a crime scene doesn't go anywhere near to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Friends Are For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deinonychus_1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinonychus_1/gifts).



> Written as a Christmas present for the very lovely deinonychus_1 who gave the prompt “when Chandler gets quite disgustingly messy, Miles helps him deal with it.”
> 
> Originally posted to Livejournal in 2013.

The body, the third in as many days, was lying on its front, trousers pulled up to his knees, a jacket loosely thrown against his back. It was in exactly the same pose as the other two and as yet they had no idea what the significance of that might be. The dumping site wasn't helping though – right by the Thames, mud and silt and human detritus contaminating any forensic evidence the team hoped to gather.

Chandler paused before moving down the steps towards the body. He'd never even considered not wearing his usual suit and shoes – he was in charge, he needed to look like it and maintain an air of strict professionalism. But there was so, much, mud.

“You coming, boss?” Miles asked. He slipped and slid past Chandler and down onto the riverside, seemingly taking no interest in the state his shoes and the bottom of his trousers was getting in.

Chandler nodded. It was another few seconds before he actually moved though, and when he did it was with a fixed glare ahead of him, not looking down at his feet once.

“Same as the others?” Miles asked.

Dr Llewellyn was already on her hands and knees, mud seeping into her lab coat. She brushed a stray hair away from her face, splashing mud against her forehead. Chandler's whole arm twitched and shook until he shoved it into his pocket. Miles pointedly moved away from him.

“Exactly the same,” Llewellyn said. She rolled her shoulders and Miles leaned down to help her stand. The sound of the mud squelching as she moved sent a full body shiver over Chandler and he bit his lower lip so as not to make a sound.

“When are you off?” Miles asked. He was pointing at her still expanding belly.

“Two days. So if you could solve this before then? I hate leaving things unfinished.”

“I'll see what we can do,” Miles said with a smile, though he didn't sound too hopeful. No clues, no motive, just bodies continuing to pile up; the story of their lives, really.

Chandler squelched his way closer to the body, hoping that something would jump out at him, some clue that would give them a lead as to why these people, why this dump site.

“Impossible to tell if the tide brought him here, or he was dumped,” Miles said, echoing Chandler's own thoughts. “But the posing suggests it's deliberate.”

“Has Riley had any luck tracing the relatives of the other victims?” Chandler asked. He tried to move and found that he couldn’t.

“Yeah, I sent her, Kent and Mansell to do some interviews.” Miles looked over at Chandler; he'd never seen a more distressed look on his face, and that was saying something. “How about we get back to the station, see what they've found?”

“Good idea,” Chandler said. He didn’t move.

“You all right?”

Miles squelched closer, indicating with a wave of his hands to the SOCO's that the body could now be moved.

Chandler nodded. “Fine. Fine. Just trying, just trying to move.”

Miles made an aborted move towards Chandler's leg and then thought better of it. “Just pull,” he said, with a grin. It wasn't that he enjoyed Chandler when he got one of his turns, but sometimes the run up could be funny as hell.

“I don't want to - “ Chandler paused. Really, there was no chance he was going to come out of this predicament unsullied so he took a deep breath and began to yank his leg out of the mud. He grinned at Miles in triumph as the leg became free and he started to head back towards the steps out of there.

He could hear Miles slurping his way behind him, but focused on his own dirt strewn feet and legs, trying not to trip. He was vaguely aware of the SOCO's moving about a little distance away, but his vision was all tunnel focused on moving one foot in front of the other and planning what he would do when he got to his car. Throw his shoes in the bin for a start (he always kept a spare pair in his boot). He'd have to change his trousers as well, but perhaps that could wait until he was actually at the station. Though, did he think he could sit in a car for the drive back with mud splattered about the bottom of his trousers? Probably not. But then how was he going to change with Miles and the others about?

It was a conundrum that made him stop abruptly and Miles muttered something under his breath as he moved to avoid slamming into his back.

“Come on boss, we've not got all day,” Miles said.

Chandler's focus returned, harsher and brighter than before. But that momentary inattention was all it took. He moved his right foot forward, and came upon something, a bit of rock or some debris the tide had flung over towards the bank. Whatever it was, it made his leg jerk and he started to slip. He knew, even as he flailed, that Miles wasn't close enough to grab hold of, and even if he was they probably would have just gone down together. So there was nothing he could do to save himself as he fell inelegantly on his back, mud seeping everywhere, in places that he couldn’t, couldn’t possibly think about.

“Miles,” he said, low and distressed and with a quiver in his voice that he had no control over. “Oh god, Miles.”

He heard, rather than saw, Miles turn and the expletives rained down more forcefully.

“All right, all right, don't panic. Nothing to worry about. Just a bit of mud.”

“A _bit_?” Chandler spluttered and was that, god was that mud he was tasting?

“Hang on,” Miles said. He looked about for some help, or possibly witnesses, but no one was paying any attention. Thank god.

He tried not to laugh as Chandler flailed on the ground, trying to get a purchase with his long arms and failing to get a proper grip anywhere. Laughing would absolutely not help. Nor would taking a photo, though he was sorely tempted to do both.

“Just, stop moving, you're making it worse,” Miles said.

“I can't, I can't,” Chandler said, eyes wide and so distressed that Miles started to worry whether he was going to have a heart attack.

“All right, keep your hair on.”

Miles moved forward, grabbed Chandler underneath the arm pits and hoisted him up as much as he could. He fell to his knees, splattering himself and Chandler in the process, but at least Chandler was now sitting up.

“Could be worse,” Miles said as he moved upright.

“ _How?_ ” Chandler asked. “I'm _covered_ in it. I can't...” His breath was coming in shallow pants now, as he felt the mud start to harden, and slithers of it getting underneath his collar and down his neck. “I can't...”

“All right, Jesus, hang on,” Miles said. He recognised a full on Chandler attack when he saw one. “Look at me, look at me.” He grabbed Chandler by the elbows and made him stare at Miles. “You're okay. You're fine. It's just a bit of mud. It'll come off. We'll get you cleaned up.”

“I can't...I can't get into the car like this, I can't...” He was gripping Miles' arms hard enough to bruise.

“You can, and you will,” Miles said. He used the same voice that he did on his children when he wanted them to clean their rooms.

Chandler responded to the voice by nodding sharply and taking a deep breath. Miles tugged his arm and Chandler went, resolutely not thinking about the state he was in. Together they managed to get up the steps and back to the road where the car was parked.

“I can't...” Chandler shook his head, and kept shaking it until Miles pulled him up against the car.

“There's a pub, across there,” Miles said, pointing. “Toilets, water, we'll get you cleaned up in no time.”

Miles took Chandler's keys out of his pocket and left Chandler hyperventilating whilst he grabbed the bag of clothes he knew the DI kept in the car. Normally he'd roll his eyes at that, but in this instance it was probably just as well. God knows what he would have done otherwise. Find a shop and buy his boss a whole new outfit? That would been a great start to the week.

He looked down at his own trousers and shoes and grinned at the sound his feet made sloshing around. He'd definitely be doing his own washing when he got home that night.

He slammed the door harder than necessary and waited a moment for Chandler to try and compose himself again.

“All right, here we go,” Miles said. He almost forcefully dragged Chandler into the pub, ignoring the glares he got from customers and staff alike, and pushed Chandler into the toilets. Thankfully it was empty and he planted himself against the door so they'd know if anyone tried to get in.

“Go on then, get dressed,” Miles said after it appeared Chandler was just going to stand there in the middle of the room. “It's not the Ritz but it's the best you've got. Get a move on. We've got murders to solve.”

That seemed to snap Chandler back to reality and he nodded before stripping. It was a laborious process as he didn't appear to want any of the muddy clothing to be touching his skin, but also wanted it all off and away from him as quickly as possible. Miles looked up at the ceiling and started thinking about the other crime scenes, trying to find any links between the victims.

Miles checked his phone and saw several messages from Riley. He started going through them as Chandler finished dressing. After a while he realised that there was no movement from the other side of the room. He glanced up to find Chandler staring at himself in the mirror, his clothing as neatly pressed and clean as usual.

“I don't know how I let it get this far,” Chandler said after a while.

Miles stepped forward. “I won't tell anyone if you won't.”

Chandler smiled gratefully at him. “Thank you. I – it won't happen again.”

Miles nodded, though more because he thought they should get going rather than because he believed Chandler. He knew he'd try, but Chandler clearly didn't have as good a grip on himself as he thought.

“Right,” Chandler said. He straightened his tie even though it didn’t appear to Miles that it actually needed straightening. “Time to go then.”

“Yes, boss,” Miles agreed. He started to fill Chandler in on what the rest of the team had found out and by the time they reached the station it was as if nothing had happened and they never mentioned their detour to anyone.

Two days later, the murderer they'd tracked down and arrested escaped police custody only to be hit by a train. And everything was just as it had ever been.


End file.
